


The World Uncertain

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic does not make Merlin invincible. Hurt/comfort.</p><p>Written for hecate_666</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Uncertain

During a battle, Arthur’s world always narrowed down to the trajectory of the sword blade swiping through the air and his own harsh breathing, loud in his ears.

But he heard Merlin’s cry, a sharp sound piercing his concentration. The rest of the world rushed back—hoarse shouts from the bandits, his knights crying out orders, the clash of metal, and the frantic whinnying of horses. The bandit in front of him took advantage of his distraction to get in a hit that glanced off Arthur’s breastplate, knocking him back a few paces. From the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin, huddled on the ground.

Desperate, Arthur renewed his attack, the bandit falling back before his onslaught. A quick stroke to disarm and then his sword sank into the man’s belly. Arthur wrenched it out, and the bandit fell, screaming in pain.

“Merlin!” He turned, calling out, already running. The fight was almost over, the brigands dead or fleeing. They should have known better than to attack the king’s party.

But they had been wise enough to target Merlin, who at first glance looked harmless—no armor, no sword hanging by his side. Arthur had been on the throne for only a few months, but word had spread about the sorcerer who stood by the throne of Camelot.

Arthur sank to his knees. Merlin was hunched over, his hands gripping his thigh. An arrow had pierced him, the feathered shaft buried deep in his leg.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Arthur demanded, his fingers searching Merlin’s body for the warm slickness of blood.

“No,” Merlin gasped. “Just the leg.” His face was white, his teeth clenched against the pain.

Arthur pushed his hands away, examining the wound. The knights were gathering around, and Gwain crouched next to them. “Sire, we shall have to—”

“I know,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “I know.” He cupped Merlin’s face in his hands. “Merlin,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

Merlin looked up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. Arthur brushed his hair back off his face, calming, reassuring. “We’re going to have to push the arrow the rest of the way through. Better than pulling it out.” He paused. “Unless you can do something with your magic?”

Merlin shook his head. “Doesn’t work so well on myself. And I’d have to get the arrow out in any case.”

They cut away Merlin’s breeches. “Hold him,” Arthur ordered Gwain and Leon. Merlin stretched out on the ground, the knights’ hands settling on his shoulders and leg.

Merlin caught Arthur’s eye and nodded. “Do it.”

He cut off the feathered tip, trying to ignore the whimpers that forced their way out of Merlin’s throat. Taking a deep breath, Arthur gripped the shaft and then pushed. Merlin cried out, his body trying to arch away in agony, but Leon and Gwain held him in place. Fingers wet with blood, Arthur drew out the rest of the shaft. It seemed whole, and he could only pray that no slivers had lodged themselves in Merlin’s leg.

Harsh pants tore at Merlin’s chest as Arthur rinsed the wound with water and bound it. That was all they could manage here. “We’ll get you back to Gaius,” he said, helping Merlin to his feet. “You’ll be all right.”

“Course I will,” Merlin managed, although he gripped Arthur’s tunic tightly. He insisted he could ride, but Arthur stayed next to him back to the castle, watching closely. Merlin’s lips were pressed together, and he flinched whenever his horse trotted over a rough patch.

Arthur called for a stretcher when they reached the courtyard, ignoring Merlin’s protests. “Don’t be an idiot, Merlin,” he said gruffly, leading the way up the stairs.

“Merlin, what’s happened?” Gaius exclaimed when they entered, and he hurried over, his face lined with concern.

“Just an arrow,” Merlin said. “Nothing you can’t fix.”

Gaius immediately unwrapped the blood-stained bandage and began poking into the wound with a forceps, looking for any splinters. Sweat broke out on Merlin’s forehead, and Arthur took one of his hands in his own, letting Merlin grip his fingers.

“I’ll have to cauterize it,” Gaius said at last, and Merlin nodded, although his grip on Arthur’s hand tightened.

While Gaius stoked the fire and prepared his instruments, Arthur sat down next to Merlin. “Letting a mere bandit get the best of you—really, Merlin,” he murmured, teasing, trying to keep his voice light and not let his worry show.

“I was busy looking after _you_ ,” Merlin retorted, managing a small smile.

“I know.” Arthur squeezed his hand. “I know.”

“Going to be fine,” Merlin told him, reaching up to rub a smudge of dirt off Arthur’s face.

“We’re ready,” Gaius announced quietly. “Arthur, if you’ll hold him?”

Merlin screamed when the hot iron touched his skin and then mercifully passed out. Gaius worked swiftly, but he looked grim. “What is it?” Arthur asked.

“There is always the chance of an infection, sire,” Gaius answered, carefully wrapping Merlin’s leg in a clean bandage. “We’ll know soon enough which way things will turn.”

Arthur had servants take Merlin to his new chambers, located near Arthur’s. They laid him in the bed and lit a fire before Arthur dismissed them. He sat down on the bed, taking Merlin’s limp hand in his once again.

“I never thought you would get hurt,” he whispered. “With your magic—I imagined you to be invincible. And now—” He swallowed, unable to continue.

The next morning, Merlin’s skin was flushed with a fever, and Arthur felt the cold clench of fear around his heart. Gaius brought medicine, and Merlin swallowed weakly, coughing, before falling into an uneasy sleep.

He seemed to get worse as the days went by, his skin sallow and drawn tightly against his cheekbones, his eyes bright with fever during the brief periods when he was awake and lucid enough to speak. Arthur visited him when he could during the day and spent the long nights sitting my Merlin’s side, rubbing his thumb over the sharp bones in Merlin’s wrist.

“If he does not begin to get better soon,” Gaius said one evening, trailing off with a heavy sigh. He shook his head and quietly left the room.

Arthur hunched over the bed, smoothing Merlin’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “You _will_ get better,” he whispered. “You will.”

The night hours passed slowly, and Arthur tried to think of better times—of Merlin clumsily buckling on his armor those first days, of falling asleep to the sound of Merlin quietly clearing up and banking the fire, of Merlin laughing during a feast, his fingers brushing Arthur’s wrist as he poured the wine. He tried not to think of the silence and the empty place at his side which would be all that remained to him if Merlin should die.

But in the morning, Merlin’s breathing was easier and his skin cool to the touch.

Merlin recovered slowly, sleeping much of the day. Arthur sent up various delicacies from the kitchen, which Merlin always accepted happily, although he protested that he would grow fat if Arthur persisted.

“A strong wind would blow you right over,” Arthur told him, ruffling his hair, and Merlin batted his hands away.

But after a week or so, Merlin began to chafe at being confined to his bed. One afternoon, when he was being particularly churlish, Arthur ordered the servants to help him dress. “I know just the thing,” he told Merlin and led him down the corridor, Merlin leaning on his arm, still limping.

They walked slowly, making their way to a grassy sward behind the castle. Arthur knew a spot that was out of the wind, and he laid down the blanket he had brought, smoothing out the corners. Merlin sank onto it with a grateful sigh, leaning back against the stones, blinking in the bright sunlight. Arthur sat next to him.

The sun made him drowsy, and he yawned, glancing over at Merlin. Merlin’s head was nodding towards his chest.

He made a surprised noise when Arthur reached for him, but he didn’t protest as Arthur pulled him closer. Arthur got them settled so that Merlin’s back was against his chest, and he tucked Merlin’s sun-warmed hair under his chin. “Better?” he asked.

“Better,” Merlin said, and he smiled when Arthur kissed him, just above his ear. “Much better.”

 

 

Note: The title is from the poem “Friendship” by Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

A ruddy drop of manly blood  
The surging sea outweighs;  
The world uncertain comes and goes,  
The lover rooted stays.  
I fancied he was fled,  
And, after many a year,  
Glowed unexhausted kindliness  
Like daily sunrise there.  
My careful heart was free again-  
O friend, my bosom said,  
Through thee alone the sky is arched,  
Through thee the rose is red,  
All things through thee takes nobler form  
And look beyond the earth,  
The mill-round of our fate appears  
A sun-path in thy worth.  
Me too thy nobleness has taught  
To master my despair;  
The fountains of my hidden life  
Are through thy friendship fair.


End file.
